


Sanctuary

by TheProfoundBlade



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Season 2-3 coda, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProfoundBlade/pseuds/TheProfoundBlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan owns a little hut by the harbor. This little hut becomes a sanctuary - not just for him, but for the King of Kattegat and Denmark, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

The wooden door swung open slowly, so slow that the hinges cringed and cried out like little mice having their tails caught underneath a boot. The little hut, placed near the harbor but in a little spot of solitude, was dark and warm from the summer heat baking away against the wooden frames and hay roof. It was with a smile that the former Christian priest stepped inside his little home, his own corner of Kattegat, and closed the door behind him. It was calm here. After sliding a plank over the doorframe, locking the world completely out, Athelstan blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness. Through cracks and creaks of the wood, little rays of late setting sunshine shone, making little specs of dust and dirt seem like sparkling stars flying through the dark night sky. 

There was a presence here.

It wasn’t a threatening one. If anything, it brought more calm to the little hut, more warmth and made Athelstan smile fondly to himself as he moved towards his small bed in the corner, sitting down on the edge of it to start pulling off his worn, old leather boots. There was a stirring sound behind him, but he smiled just the same and continued undressing slowly.

Once his woven tunic was pulled over his shoulders, a little warm touch was planted against his back, a calloused yet tender fingertip circling a bump on his spine. Summer always made him want to eat less, even when everyone told him how important it was to keep eating if he wanted to stay strong. Working in the heat and with so many sweaty, musky men had a tendency of stifling his appetite. 

Since Ragnar had become king, Kattegat had become a different town all together. More people had arrived, more ships were being built; the town was growing and Ragnar seemed to be the leader everyone wanted. A man of the people, a farmer who knew what mattered even to the poorest of people and the richest of them as well. Watching the new king rule, dealing with the law and the first Thing after becoming king had been a pleasure to Athelstan, always standing off to Ragnar’s right side, observing and acting as a quiet counsel when the older man required it. A single nod or shake of the head from Athelstan on a case Ragnar was in doubt of seemed to be enough for him to make a decision, and in that sense Athelstan felt more powerful and important to the people of Kattegat than he ever had. 

But then, it didn’t really matter how important he was to other people. It mattered how important he was to Ragnar. 

“Is it not a little early for a king to retire to bed?” Athelstan said as he looked over his shoulder, seeing bright blue eyes beam up at him underneath a bundle of pelts covering the rest of the much, much larger man.  
  
The reply was nothing more than a huff and a push of that hand against his back, making him giggle quietly before pushing off of the bed to untie his breeches. The stirring sound was a little louder then, a pelt dropping onto the floor from the end of the bed. When this house was built, so was the bedframe, and it was made specifically for Athelstan and his height. Having someone at least a foot taller lay in it sometimes caused some issues.  
  
“I wondered if you were going to be here tonight,” Athelstan continued quietly, slipping out of the dirty breeches and stretching his long, toned body, “your queen seemed adamant of getting you to stay with her tonight.”  
  
“I do not want to speak of her,” was the rough reply. Athelstan simply nodded in return and moved to the bed once more, slowly crawling in on it.

As soon as Athelstan had settled on his side, the warmth of the pelts was shared with him, and a strong arm pulled him closer. The king was laid there, bare as the day he was born, underneath the heavy pelts and was smiling softly at the younger man as they slowly wrapped their legs together. How Ragnar wasn’t melting or a sweating mess underneath all these pelts, Athelstan could never understand, and even though he enjoyed being swaddled up so tight with his king he couldn’t for more than a few minutes.

“How are you able to breathe under this,” he complained and pushed the pelts off of him, bunching it all against Ragnar’s big body.  
“Like so,” Ragnar replied and breathed loudly, making obnoxiously loud sounds as he was breathing in and out. It made Athelstan roll his eyes and punch softly at Ragnar’s shoulder, earning him a grin in return before Ragnar stopped his mocking and shuffled closer.

Their bodies were interwoven almost carefully, arms and legs locking together almost routinely and trained as they curled tight together, Athelstan tugged in underneath his king’s jaw. His fingertips brushed against the bare flesh of Ragnar’s shoulder, free of the heavy pelts. There was always stories to find on this sun-kissed skin, bumps and scars and new wounds grazing it, and as Athelstan laid quietly, listening to Ragnar’s slowing breathing, he found a deep, round scar near the crease where arm meets torso. 

It was calm. The little hut was a sanctuary, not only for Athelstan to escape the wild nature of the people he had grown to love and become part of, but also for the king. No one knew Ragnar would escape to this little house at night, not even his wife or children, and he wanted to keep it that way. His burden had gotten much heavier with the death of Horik, and soon winter would come, making the people itch for a new raid, making them drink more and fight more and cause Ragnar’s hall to be full of issues to be handled. Not to mention Aslaug, and the slow burn of their relationship dying. Ragnar couldn’t deal with her jealousy, and her anger with him surrounding his favoritism of all the other boys besides Ivar. Athelstan had seen many fights happen between them over the last few weeks, so when Ragnar one evening had shown up at the little house he had built – with his own two hands – for Athelstan, the priest didn’t turn him away.

Instead they shared the escapism a bit, for a few nights at a time, simply laying together and resting.

“I always dream of you,” Ragnar said quietly after a long bout of silence. Athelstan blinked his own eyes open again, having almost fallen asleep, and twisted slightly against Ragnar’s chest to lay closer, listen to his heartbeat and look up into the darkness.  
“You do?”  
“Yes.”  
“What happens in your dreams?” 

Ragnar stayed quiet for a short while, his arms around Athelstan’s body tightening slightly, a hand finding rest in the dark, long locks of his companion. When the fingertips started to scratch and press against Athelstan’s scalp, the younger priest sighed contently and held tighter against the broad chest near him. 

“We run. Or sometimes we sail. There is always fog, but we go together anyway.”  
“Where do we go to?”

Ragnar shrugged.

“Sometimes England. Sometimes east. Mostly I do not know where we are. But we always go together.”  
“Are we alone?”

Ragnar nodded. Athelstan smiled in return.

“I’m sure we can make it quite far in our little fishing boat,” Athelstan said, “maybe we can catch dolphins together.”  
“Dolphins? What are dolphins?” Ragnar asked curiously, quickly seeming to wake up. The lift of his voice had Athelstan grinning quietly to himself as he shook his head. He should have known better than to tell Ragnar about something new right as they were about to sleep.  
  
“I know very little about them, but the roman scriptures and paintings I have seen of them make them look quite… horrifying.”  
“That does not answer my question,” Ragnar said, crunching every limb around Athelstan a little harder, making the younger man yelp and giggle louder. The king smiled in return, his lips pressing against the soft, dark hair.  
  
“They are fish. Giant ones, like salmons only bigger, and they have long snouts and teeth. They almost look like wolves.”  
“Wolves? Sea-wolves?”  
“And people would ride them. The roman gods, at least. I do not think a mere mortal would be able to ride a dolphin.”  
“I would.”

Athelstan grinned again, Ragnar smiling wide against the soft hair. 

“You are not a mere mortal, Ragnar,” Athelstan said, pulling back a little in his king’s hold to push upwards and face him. Their noses were almost touching, their blue eyes meeting in the darkness. Athelstan often wondered if the sun was actually ice blue, as Ragnar’s eyes when they shined clearly with emotion.

“Am I not?” Ragnar asked coyly, pursing his lips slightly as he moved his hand down from Athelstan’s head to his hips, pulling them a little tighter together, blocked by the heavy pelts between them.  
“No,” Athelstan smiled, “you are a legend.” 

The expression that appeared on Ragnar’s face then was one that only Athelstan ever got to see, and ever got to make him make. It was a bashful one, his cheeks bunching in a wide smile and his eyes tilting down and away to avoid Athelstan’s gaze. If anything, it seemed he was flattered and maybe even a little shy, and Athelstan absolutely adored that look. When someone so tough, rough and brash could become so small and soft with a simple sentence; that was almost a miracle to the priest.

When the king had finished his blushing – masked well in the darkness – he lifted his head again and pressed forward, twisting his head just so that his nose brushed against Athelstan’s, and their lips met gently. It was just a fleeting moment, quiet and private, nothing more than a little thank you or appreciation for the words. Now was not the time for the embers Athelstan knew were inside Ragnar to be rekindled and fanned awake, the fire didn’t need to be warming their bodies. Instead, a small, tender kiss between them was enough as they settled again, their foreheads touching and nose tips sometimes brushing past one another as their eyes closed and their breathing slowed down.

It was calm, in the little house. In the little house built by the king for the priest, in the little corner of Kattegat where the whole world vanished for a night at a time. And as they both slowly drifted into sleep, Athelstan too started dreaming of sailing out towards something unknown, in a heavy fog, but when he looked to his side he saw his smiling friend look into the horizon and it made his heart swell, his chest warm. Maybe heaven was a sailboat drifting slowly into the wild unknown with someone you love by your side.


End file.
